Now and Again (20 page)

Ben rested a hand on the crown of her head as she started moving her lips up and down his cock, and she felt the muscles in his thighs tighten. He was close. She cupped his balls in her hand and his whole body tensed as he breathed out a series of long, ragged groans. He yelled out her name as she felt his hot release in her mouth.

When she sat up to look at him, she felt self-conscious suddenly. Did he know that hadn’t been all about horniness, but also the feelings she had for him? He grinned and pulled her against his chest, leaning back against the door.

“You make me feel so good,” she said.

He gave a low laugh. “The feeling’s mutual.”

She hadn’t been talking about the sex, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to think she had. Telling him he made her feel protected and cared for would make her feel far more naked than this did.

***

Layla wiped a light layer of dust from her large sauté pan, trying to remember if she’d ever actually used it. She’d bought it when she was shopping to furnish the apartment right after she’d moved in, mostly because she liked the pink silicone handle.

If nothing else, she was color-coordinated, she thought as she pulled a pink gingham apron over her head. She’d made a special trip to a kitchen specialty store over lunch for the apron, but her confidence in her cooking abilities went up as soon as she secured the strings behind her.

“Okay, Prince,” she said. “We’re starting with the sauce. We’ve got . . . 50 minutes until Ben’s gonna be here. We can do this, right?”

Prince cocked his head her way, which she took as a yes.

She chopped garlic and onions and browned meat, only stumbling on how to drain the cooked beef. Her new bright purple colander was sitting on the counter, so she threw it in the sink and dumped the meat in there to drain it.

Once she stirred the sauce ingredients together and waited for them to cook, she turned the dial on the oven to preheat so she could cook the bread she’d picked up. She sipped a glass of red wine as she waited, wrinkling her face at the smell of garlic and onions on her hands.

That’s not hot. Better go wash it off.

While she scrubbed her hands with scented soap, she got a look at herself in the mirror. Her hair and makeup needed touched up. She wanted everything to be perfect tonight. Ben would see that she could be a traditional girl, cooking him a nice dinner and giving him a back massage while he told her about his day.

She put on new eye makeup and blush, flat ironed a few sections of her hair and rubbed on the coconut lotion Ben liked. She was about to leave the bathroom when she remembered she hadn’t shaved her legs in the shower that morning, so she did that, too.

She glanced at the clock when she walked back in the kitchen and her mouth dropped open.

“Shit! Ben’s gonna be here in 15 minutes!”

A bubbling sound on the stove caught her attention and she groaned at the red sauce splattered on the wall, counter and stove. She reached for the dial and an angry shot of marinara hit her in the eye.

“Fuck me, that hurts!” She put a hand over her eye and turned the dial down, reaching for a big pot to cook the spaghetti in.

Her eye watered as she filled it, and as she moved it to the stovetop, she cringed from the burn of makeup. Cranking the burner up as high as it would go, she ran to the bathroom to rinse her eye and put new makeup on it. She couldn’t cover up the redness completely.

Eight minutes until Ben would arrive, she thought as she walked back into the kitchen. She looked into the pot of water and saw a few tiny bubbles. Grabbing her phone, she texted Emma.

WTF is a rolling boil?

Emma wrote back and Layla rolled her eyes.

Are you cooking?

She didn’t want to chitchat, she needed help, dammit. She dumped the pasta in the pot and stirred it.

Nevermind. Call you later.

She grabbed plates and silverware and set the table quickly, remembering at the last minute to throw the bread in the oven. As soon as she opened the oven door, she saw pots and pans and baking sheets inside. Shit. She had used the oven for storage since moving in.

The pot she reached for stung her hand so quickly she yelped as she pulled it back. So, no emptying the oven. They’d have to eat the bread like it was.

She ran cold water on her throbbing fingertips, checking the time on the pasta. The box said eight to ten minutes and it had been eight. Good enough. She drained the pasta in the colander, sure the steam melted her makeup off, and mixed the noodles and sauce.

There was a knock at the door as she stirred, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she opened it and saw Ben, dressed in a dark brown suit with a white shirt, his tie loosened around his neck. He smiled as he eyed her apron.

“Nice. Is that garlic I smell? Are you cooking?”

“I made dinner. It’s all ready.”

His brows arched with surprise. “I thought you didn’t cook.”

“It’s just spaghetti, nothing fancy.”

“I’m starved. Thanks for making dinner.” He leaned down to kiss her and wrinkled his brows. “What’s wrong with your eye?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a problem with my contact. How was work?”

“Good. We got a good lead on a cold case. How about you?”

She handed him a plate of spaghetti. “Lots of boring meetings.”

She sat her plate on the table and got a beer out of the fridge for Ben. He watched her as she grabbed her wine glass and untied her apron, his hands in his lap.

“Don’t wait for me, go ahead and eat,” she said. “I need to feed Prince real quick.”

She mixed some wet and dry dog food the way Prince liked it and filled his dish, then sat down and admired Ben across the table. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the golden stubble was a rugged contrast to his suit. She knew he’d want to take off his tie and dress shirt after dinner and watch sports highlights on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table. It was their after-dinner ritual, and she would tuck herself next to him and rest against his chest while they watched.

She raised a bite of spaghetti to her mouth, and she felt her eyes widen as she bit into the doughy pasta and it crunched a little.

“Ugh.” Her face twisted with dismay and she met Ben’s eyes across the table. “This is terrible!”

He’d already eaten several bites, and she could tell he didn’t know if it was okay for him to agree with her. “It’s fine,” he said, and Layla buried her face in her hands as she heard crunching when he chewed.

“This was an epic fail,” she said miserably. “Who fucks up spaghetti?”

“No, it’s fine,” Ben said, reaching for her hand.

“Dammit, why can’t I be good at the normal stuff?”

“There’s plenty you’re good at.”

“I don’t mean like blowjobs, I mean like cooking dinner for my boyfriend. My sister can cook a gourmet meal from scratch and it’s perfect and I can’t even boil fucking pasta.”

Ben’s mouth opened and then closed quickly, and Layla felt her cheeks burning as she realized what she’d said.

“I didn’t mean you. I didn’t mean like you’re my boyfriend. I was just saying that
if
I had one, I wouldn’t be able to cook him dinner.”

She wished the floor would swallow her up as she jumped from her chair to clear the plates from the table. Ben approached her from behind as she scraped spaghetti into the garbage can, taking the plate and setting it on the counter. He put his hands on her shoulders and she turned.

“Hey,” he said. “Let’s order a pizza and watch baseball highlights while I rub your feet. I don’t give a shit about the spaghetti, Layla. You tried and I appreciate it.”

She sighed deeply as she looked up at him. “You love Emma’s cooking. It does matter. She’s the total package and I’m . . . a partial package.”

Ben shook his head and smiled. “Now you’re talking crazy. Your sister’s nice and all, but she’s got nothing on you.”

“I’m sorry about dinner.”

“You wear that apron to bed later and all’s forgiven.” He slid his hands around her waist and then down to cup her ass.

“Just the apron?” She raised her brows and grinned.

“I like where your head’s at. But first I’m rubbing your feet. Then we’ll go play.”

Layla knew he’d make her come without actual sex; he always did. And she did the same for him. She reached for his cheek, getting serious. “When are we going to do more than play?”

“If we do, I want to be sure you’re ready.” He turned his face to kiss her fingers that rested on his face.

If. The word nagged at Layla. She tried to put it aside as Ben massaged her feet on the couch, but it kept creeping back in. Wondering what Ben wanted at the end of his two weeks was driving her crazy. Would that be it? Or would things change then? And did she want them to?

There were more questions than answers, so Layla decided to put it out of her mind and enjoy playing with Ben.

Chapter 12

The pounding of hammers and whirring of drills drowned out Emma’s voice as she tried to tell Layla about the bakery renovation. She gestured for Layla to follow her through the room that was taking shape as a kitchen.

A giant double basin stainless sink was being installed as they walked through the room, a man on his back reaching up to connect pipes together. Long stainless counters and a big wood island had also been added to the room.

When the door closed behind them as they stepped into the alley, the sounds were immediately silenced.

“I still hear pounding in my head when I go home at night,” Emma said, pressing her fingers into her temple.

“But it’s looking really good in there, Em.”

“Yeah, I’m getting excited. Another month til I can open, though. So how’s it going with you and Ben?”

“It’s good.” Layla smiled and tried to keep her face from looking dreamy. “I mean, I like him and we have a great time together.”

“And you’re exclusive, right?”

Until midnight tonight we are.

“Um, yeah.”

“Why the hesitation? You aren’t seeing anyone else, are you?” Emma sounded upset, and Layla threw up a hand to stop her.

“No. God, no. I can barely handle Ben, let alone him and anyone else. He makes all other men look weak and worthless anyway.”

“So . . . why don’t you bring him to Mom and Dad’s for dinner Sunday?”

“You think I should?” Layla’s heart picked up at the thought. Would Ben want to? She didn’t want things to end after their Friday night date tonight. He was taking her out but refused to tell her where. And as much as she wanted tonight to be
the night
, she knew she wasn’t ready.

Thoughts about Ben had consumed her mind at work all morning, and she’d decided she didn’t want sex to be the final act of this four-week-long experiment in the art of seduction. The nagging voice in her head that said sex was all Ben wanted from her was getting louder and louder. Why hadn’t he said anything about them continuing to see each other at the end of the four weeks, which was . . . 11 hours and 15 minutes away?

“I think you should,” Emma said. “Tell Mom and Dad to be cool about it, and not grill him.”

“Yeah, hopefully Ben and Cole won’t get into a fist fight at the dinner table or anything,” Layla said, shaking her head.

“I know, what’s up with that?”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Ask him, okay?”

Layla considered as she stared down the empty alley. “I think I will.” And why wait? “I think I’ll drop by his office and see him now. I don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

“Maybe a little office nookie?” Emma asked, grinning. “I just did . . .” Her voice trailed away and her cheeks reddened.

“Em! If you did your boyfriend in his office, I’m happy for you! I’m all the way over all that, honestly. The only part of me that’s jealous is the part that hasn’t had sex in more than eight months.” She pointed between her legs as she spoke and Emma’s mouth fell open.

“What? You and Ben still haven’t . . .?”

“Still haven’t, no. I need to tell you the whole story sometime, this whole thing is sort of a bet gotten out of hand. But I’m completely crazy about the guy now. Speaking of him, I need to go.”

Emma gave her a quick hug before she headed down the alley. “See you guys Sunday,” she said.

The idea of introducing Ben to her parents took root as Layla walked. He’d met her friends, and more importantly, Prince. And since he already knew Emma and Cole, introducing him to her parents was the last step in making it official with Ben. Did she want that?

Yes. What had started out as a game to ease her sexual tension had grown into much more over the past four weeks. Layla didn’t want to let Ben go, and she hoped he felt the same way.

She drove to the Michigan Avenue station and parked in the closest lot, noticing it was a rare overcast day. For once, the sun wasn’t blaring down in its usual overbearing August fashion.

The front desk clerk didn’t blink an eye as Layla sailed past, pressing the down button on the elevator as soon as she reached it.

“Hey, Layla,” Amy, the clerk for the Investigations Division, said when she approached. “He’s in his office.”

Amy buzzed the door open and Layla entered, warmth filling her at the idea of seeing Ben. Though she’d seen him the night before, she wanted to hug him, smell his cologne and see his smile.

I’m officially lame. What is my deal, fawning over a man like this?

She knocked once on Ben’s door and pushed it open, her smile becoming an all-out grin when she saw him. He stood to the side of his desk, where he was adjusting a strap on a dark, form-fitting vest.

“Hey, this is a nice surprise,” he said, walking her way.

“I couldn’t wait until tonight, when I’m meeting you at . . . where did you say, again?”

He raised his brows as he leaned down to kiss her. “Nice try. It’s a surprise, and you’ll like it.”

“What kind of surprise?” She reached up to trail her nails down his jaw line the way she knew he liked.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m taking you to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory so you can swim in the chocolate river.”

Layla pulled her fingers back from his face and slapped his cheek lightly. “You asshole! I told you I didn’t eat lunch
or
dinner yesterday, and I don’t know why you brought over a giant chocolate cheesecake last night, anyway.”